Like The Dead Of Night Poem by Sandra jacks

Like The Dead Of Night



I have a flower,
limping,
over,
limp...

in my crusty hand..
limp...

dull...
like the dead of night,
i grabbed it,
from the mud..

the earth will not sleep easy tonight.

thick mud,
crusts wrinkles in my hand,
i need to wash it...
but i'm dead,
like the dead of night.

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